Shock, Loss and Solace
by Tyrrlin
Summary: [G1&OC] Flamestrike loses her bondmate Prowl during the events of TF:TM. How will she recover?
1. Chapter 1: Shock

**Author's note: This is my first fanfic in a very, very long time and a long time since I've written anything. This story takes place during and after TFTM and features my Autobot femme character Flamestrike. Crystal Shekeira is kindly writing the precursor to this story in "Logical Arrival." The music mentioned at the top of each chapter is music that inspired me to write the scene, or that I was listening to while writing. I do like comments and constructive criticism, but be aware, I'm writing as a hobby and to get these stories out of my head before I'm subsumed. :-)**

**Legal stuff: Transformers et. al. are copyright to Hasbro and are not mine in any way. The character Flamestrike, however, is my intellectual property. Solarflare belongs to Crystal Shekeira.**

Gorecki Symphony #3 "Symphony of Sorrowful Songs"

"C'mon, Trailbreaker, I want to try and get back before the shuttle lands. You know they're due in today," muttered Flamestrike as her green optics scanned the Southeastern horizon. She was practically hovering in anticipation. A dry chuckle was her only answer. When she turned impatiently towards the tall black mech, he finally gave his last farewell to the commanding General and both Autobots transformed, moving towards the front gate of the Army post. Upbeat marches provided by the Army band followed them out and closed the (seemingly endless) ceremony to celebrate another successful training exercise.

After moving the ever-increasing population of Autobots to Lookout Mountain in Tennessee; they, Flamestrike in particular, developed a good relationship with the Army Soldiers at Fort Campbell. Every once in a while they'd take a small group up to the home of the 101st Division "Screaming Eagles" to help train the Soldiers in their warrior tasks. Usually Flamestrike went with her bondmate Prowl, or Hound, but nearly all of the Autobots found themselves involved in the exercises held on the post at one time or another. Flamestrike admired the tenacity of the Soldiers and took a fiendish delight in their "field exercises" playing Deception infiltrator, defending Autobot, or any number of other tasks the exercise planners asked her to do. As the most frequent participant of the wargame exercises, and partially because of her alt-mode's gryphon form, she had been adopted as the new "unofficial mascot" to the 101st. Though she had tried to convince Solarflare to accompany her (just knowing that the Soldiers would adore her Eagle mode), the Communications Officer adamantly refused to go.

_Her loss. She'll never know what she's missing_, was the gryphonic femme's wry thought as Trailbreaker drove slowly and carefully through the front gate, Flamestrike tamely padding alongside the road.

Once off-post, Trailbreaker turned for the highway while Flamestrike launched into the air. Her anti-grav units whined momentarily as she ascended to a height able to see for miles. "No Decepticons in range", she radioed down to her mission partner. "Can't you go any faster? We need to get back in time and that exercise," _and ceremony_, she thought with tolerant exasperation "took longer than we had planned." She circled back around, keeping the black truck in the precise center of the rather large spiral she was making.

"No can do, Flame. This is as fast as I can manage. I'm not as speedy as your bondmate, you know," was the amused reply. Flamestrike sighed inwardly at the delay and tried to lose herself in the feel of cool air rushing over her red pinions, the warm sunglare on her back; tried to admire the lush green carpet below, now broken only by the ribbon of highway winding East and South along the contours.

An hour passed, bringing them through Nashville. Trailbreaker turned to a more Southernly bearing and paced along, the sun moving inevitably across the sky. _Every moment brings me that much closer_, Flamestrike reminded herself as she carefully kept within hailing distance of Trailbreaker. She wanted to break out of this ever-crawling circle, to fly as high as she dared for a glimpse of the streaking light that would be the shuttle. _It's not been _that_ long, but every time Prowl leaves, it feels like an eternity. Not logical, I know, but even Prowl figured out that logic and feelings usually have very little to do with each other_. Almost unknowingly, she ascended another degree in the sky. _Just that much closer. Maybe he's in range?_

Glancing down to make sure that Trailbreaker was still carefully winding his eventual way to Autobot City, Flamestrike took a moment to try her long-range radio communication. She focused her ears and sent out a quick hail on the shuttle's frequency. A burst of static was her only response. Not quite daunted, she decided to try an experiment and reach out to Prowl through their spark-bonding. No one could quite explain it, and certainly both Perceptor and Ratchet working together were unable to scientifically define it, but spark-bonded couples could _feel_ each other. She had never tried reaching out at such a range before, though, but she _missed_ Prowl. She missed his shy smile, his wry humor, sharp intelligence, and the look in his optics that was for her, alone.

What had started out as admiration for the other's stellar qualities and quirks grew slowly into a bonding that both would have disregarded had it not been for-- She broke off that line of thought with a mental shake. Giving a quick scan around the area to reassure herself of a continuing all-clear, she locked her wings into the traveling spiral and focused attention inward to the attenuated spark-bond linking her with Prowl.

Following the faint scintillating green-blue bond was difficult and Flame had to focus more attention into reaching out, out, further, further… Her soaring wings flared, unnoticed, as her body climbed higher in an effort to reach just that much closer to her mate. The faint blue spark-thread seemed to thin and whiten into nothing, causing the femme to cast about desperately until… _There!_

A bright icy blue spark glowed in her core's optics, one that pulsed in time with her own spark's vacillating. With an internal smile of loving triumph, she sent a pulse of seeking-greeting along the bond. A moment of surprise, then the icy-blue pulse returned back a feeling of admiration, love, and welcome. She could feel Prowl smile slightly, even so far away as the shuttle and she savored that smile as he savored the greeting pulse that was for only him.

"Crazy femme-bot! What are you doing up there? You're way higher than when we started!" came the sudden communiqué from an amused Trailbreaker. "We're making good time back to the City and you won't get there any faster if you decide to go into orbit!"

"I'm just enjoying the…scenery," bantered Flamestrike. There was no way she was going to share this private bond-moment with Prowl. Giving Trailbreaker a vague reassurance that she wasn't going to fly off, she focused back down beyond into the dark, misty center that housed her internal spark – and the now re-established link to her bondmate. She'd barely opened up the bond again when she felt him start in surprise.

She could almost see what was happening. Sensing Prowl's increase of activity at the controls, she "listened" with every circuit in her programming. Something was wrong with the shuttle. No, it wasn't the shuttle that was wrong…Megatron had attacked with a picked squad of Decepticons! She reached further, trying to mentally/emotionally bridge the gap; to try and help Prowl if she could.

While Megatron bashed his way onto the forward deck, Prowl had calculatedly shut down the affected shuttle systems, Brawn was the first to sound the alert but he had collapsed on the deck, shot by a transformed Megatron, aimed by Starscream. Flamestrike felt Prowl's calculation: Megatron must have powered up his troops with something extra to have knocked Brawn down so fast! Flamestrike felt his battle computer go into action with only one possible outcome.

_No_, she whispered to herself as her mate bravely swung around to face his attackers. _He's trying to buy the others time_, she realized as she felt her circuits suddenly go cold_. He knows that with the extra power they have…no!_ Prowl fired his gun at Starscream who ducked slightly, allowing the shot to hit the bulkhead. She felt his disappointment when the blast went awry. Concentrating his attention on Starscream, he almost missed Scavenger's prepatory aim. Prowl caught the last movement from the Constructicon, but not in time. _No!_

Flamestrike _felt_ the blast that ripped through her bondmate's armor. She screamed as pain radiated down their bond; fire coursing through her system. Prowl was burning inside, his systems shutting down in rapid succession as the oddly powerful blast melted delicate internal circuits. She was losing him! Ignoring Trailbreaker's startled query, she forced herself inward and down, and grasped for the bond, feeling her spark blaze. Prowl fell over backwards onto the deck, unable to keep equilibrium. She threw her own strength along the bond-thread, desperately striving to keep her mate alive just one more moment. One more astrosecond until Ratchet could reach him, until Ironhide beat back the invaders. She could feel the rushing flow of his internal Energon pooling around him. _No!_

Ignoring everything but the bond, Flamestrike strove to reach Prowl. She focused with all of her formidable iron will, to keep him, hold him. Love, pain, anguish, all radiated down the spark-thread to Prowl's ice blue self. _Don't leave me_, the feeling said.

_I'm sorry…love_, was the rueful reply, a tangle of overwhelming pulses; regret, ire, embarrassment, pain, love, calculating, wistful, that flowed back through the bond before the ice blue spark suddenly jumped up, out, streaking away into the darkness. In her intense concentration, Flamestrike could see the barest glimmer of the spark's passage.

She didn't hesitate.

Green-blue, her spark surged out, traversing the fading bond-line in an instant, forcing itself past the smoking former shell of Prowl's spark and into the darkness beyond. She never noticed her physical body transforming, never gave a thought to the form that was now falling from the sky.


	2. Chapter 2: Conversation

**"February Song"**

**"Let me Fall" both sung by Josh Groban**

**Author's note: Both songs mentioned above played a major part in inspiring me to write this chapter. I don't think I can repost lyrics here, but I highly recommend listening to the songs if you get the chance. You'll get a good sense of the mood I was trying to accomplish here. (Hey, that's what happens when you have a professional musician attempt writing!)**

Darkness surrounded her. A misty, tenuous here-but-not-here sense permeated her spark's passage. Keeping her attention focused on the fading bond-thread, Flamestrike didn't notice anything but the icy-blue light streaking through the not-here following a path only he could know. She reached out with ethereal "hands" as she sensed Prowl's spark slowing, finally aware that he was being followed. Turning, he too reached out as the two bond-mates joined sparks, glowing brighter with their union. Two became one.

Time was of no consequence here. It could have been a moment, or a thousand years before Flamestrike felt the opposing tugs on their separate selves. Flamestrike and Prowl again separated into their own sparks, visible only by the delineation of green- and ice-blue stars. The two, while joined, had drifted slowly closer to a bright light now manifesting to their senses. She felt the immense luminosity's pull on Prowl's spark, but not her own. "Looking" behind her, she barely detected the faint trail she followed; the trail that still held her bound, however tenuously, to her physical shell. Other sparks in varying shades of blue streaked towards them, passing by to join with the radiance.

"The All-Spark," she whispered, tightening her hold on Prowl and feeling his grasp match hers. The All-Spark scintillated a gentle blue, gradually fading into the warm misty darkness that surrounded the bond-mates.

"You can't stay here," Prowl said, reluctantly. His spark pulsed with a certainty not matched by hers. The difference in rhythms further separated the two mates a fraction at a time.

"Prowl," she began.

"Flamelet," he murmured, calling her by the endearment used only in their most private communication. He pulled close once more. "I never wanted to let you down. But it's my time, not yours, to go. You and I are slipping away as we find different paths."

Flamestrike clung with fading strength. "I want to go with you."

"You can't. You have to go back. You don't have a choice." Prowl's grip slipped ever so slightly.

Flamestrike felt a sudden tug on her being. For a moment, one scene, but two sets of sounds juxtaposed- -

"_Finally! Over here!" called a voice, rough with strain. Vague sounds of approaching steps reached her senses. "Skyfire, get your aft over here and help, quick!"_

"_Primus, she's a mess!" from a second voice, gentler, but breaking. "Trailbreaker, what happened?"_

_"I don't know!" lamented the first voice, overshadowing a third voice's murmuring. "We were headed back from the base. She kept soaring higher and higher, 'enjoying the scenery' she said. Suddenly, she cried out, transformed, and plummeted like lead shot! I tried, but couldn't quite catch her with my force field. She fell so quickly…" The voice trailed off as the sounds faded into quiet darkness…_

Flamestrike could feel Prowl's regard. "You're already being pulled back," he said sadly.

"No," she pleaded with the inevitable. "No, Prowl, I don't want to be alone. I need to go with you. Bondmate, my love." Now she felt again the increasing gravitation drawing them apart. Desperately, she tried to hang on, feeling his strength also fading.

Again, Flamestrike held on to Prowl's spark as another tug, massively stronger attempted to pull her back to her physical shell. - -

"_I think I have most of the critical areas stabilized. We'd better get back to what's left of Autobot City." Uninvited, the third voice came to the fore of her senses._

"_What do you mean, 'what's left?'" demanded the overwrought first voice._

"_Decepticon attack," explained the second voice. "Megatron took over the shuttle and tried to sneak into the City. Kup and Hot Rod saw the damage to the shuttle's side and managed to alert the City residents in time to transform the defenses. Blaster got a message out to those of us on Moonbase One and we hightailed it here. Prime took off to deal with Megatron about the same time I received your distress call."_

"_Slag it! Things had been going so well for so long, too."_

"_That's not all. Megatron," and here the second voice roughened with suppressed emotion, "killed everyone aboard the shuttle when he took it over. They're gone, Trailbreaker."_

_Hearing that admission, Flamestrike wrenched her senses away, back to the soft, misty darkness._

Prowl's spark wavered in strain. "You won't be alone. There is another who also cares for you, as I do. Go to him." Prowl's voice stilled for a moment, as if hearing a far-off speaker, then resumed, "I promise you this, love. We will be together again, someday." The sense of Prowl's shy, loving smile bathed her spark as he spoke. "Go."

"Who?" came the reluctant question.

"_Flamestrike." A whine of jet engines sliced through her senses, hauling her back. Still she fought to stay._

"You'll know him when you decide to open your optics. Flamelet, love," Prowl's golden voice faded as their weakening grasp proved too little to stave off the increasing pull. A sudden wrench ripped them apart. Shreds of their bonded selves silently erupted into the darkness leaving gaping, ragged edges on both sparks, ruthlessly attenuating the bond beyond either lover's ability to recover.

"No! Not yet, not yet!" came the anonymous cry. With one last effort, both bond-mates tried to reach…one last touch…

_"C'mon, Flamestrike. Wake up. Please, wake up."_

Flamestrike's world **_shifted_** violently - - darkness remained, but her perception of it radically altered.

_A tender, fading kiss brushed her facial planes as she rushed back the way she came. Overwhelming pain returned now, and the memory of her ethereal conversation faded fast into her unconscious programming as waves of agony shattered her senses. She screamed, her cry echoing powerfully into the darkening mist._

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

A barely audible moan echoed through Flamestrike's audios. She recognized it as her own vocalizer, critically damaged. She couldn't think past the wracking pain pulverizing her receptors from every last micron of her body. She thought she writhed violently, but the only motion was a feeble twitch of her shattered limbs. Darkness still permeated her optics.

"Flamestrike!" the gentle mech's voice echoed painfully through her overcharged senses. "Flame, don't move. Skyfire's taking us back now. Just stay still for half a tick and we can get you to medbay."

"What.. happ-ened? Where-" was all she managed before her vocalizer cut out in a hiss of static. She couldn't quite remember. She hurt all over, feeling strangely light and… empty. A hand gently held hers, squeezing the mangled extremity slightly, tremulously. Willing her optic circuits into functionality, her first impression was a crazed misty greyness overshadowed by oily pinkish rainbows. A cloth gently cleared away the sheen of seeping Energon from the brightening emerald glass, mazed with impact fractures. Hazy at first, her vision tunneled to focus on two mournful blue optics framed in a square white face, fuzzily bordered in dark green.

"Trailbreaker said you suddenly fell from the sky." A murmured assent came from another voice outside of her limited optic range. "You two were on your way back to the City to meet the shuttle."

_The shuttle. Primus!_ Muddy memories swirled up into her central cortex; she reached out for Prowl and felt… nothing.

_No!_ Panic swept through her system, momentarily forcing back the pain in a burst of crystal-clear anguished clarity. She wrenched herself upright in a burst of despair, her systems fading dangerously at the action.

Firm pressure fore and aft forced her back down onto the flat bunk. "Flamestrike, don't move! Please, stay down," urged the gentle voice, rough now with the scare he received. Blearily, the blue-white-green framed optics re-entered her field of view.

"You have to tell her," said Trailbreaker from behind her. It was his hands holding her broken shoulders to the padded surface.

The green mech in front of her leaned in slightly, recapturing Flamestrike's hand. "Flame, I don't know how to tell you. The shuttle… Megatron attacked it on the way here. He," and here the gentle murmuring voice faltered. Taking a deep, steadying draught of air, he continued, bending down to meet Flame's gaze.

"Megatron killed everyone on the shuttle. Brawn, Ironhide, Ratchet. And Prowl. He's gone, Flame. I'm sorry." The green mech's voice dropped, unable to continue.

Flamestrike felt her world shatter all over again. Her vocalizer sputtered to life.

"Hound. I already know."


	3. Chapter 3: Loss and Recovery

Chapter 3: Loss and Recovery 

**"Adagio for Strings" Samuel Barber **

**"Hymn to the Fallen" John Williams **

**Author's note: While writing this chapter, I realized that I (unconsciously) pulled from some personal hospital experience dealing with a very ill but recovering friend. That tidbit might not be interesting, but to me it adds a level of verisimilitude to the last scene of the chapter. As always, I appreciate the comments and constructive criticism. Thank you!**

Flamestrike had slipped into deep recharge by the time Skyfire made his initial descent into Autobot City. Hound and Trailbreaker were still perched next to the padded bunk where she lay, lost in their own thoughts when Skyfire's com unit lit up.

"Incoming message from the city, you three," announced Skyfire, angling over the ruins searching for a path down to the medical wing.

"Two," answered Hound, "Flamestrike's out of it, and that's probably for the best." He glanced down at his right hand, still lightly holding her left one. Even her slender, grey fingers were coated with a sheen of seeping Energon from wounds too numerous to count, caused by the shattering impact of her fall. Though dented and torn, they grasped his in an unmistakable clasp. He squeezed his own black fingers once, gently, but there was no response.

"I'll go up there and see what Flare or Blaster has to say," Trailbreaker said, standing up with a thoughtful expression in his optics. With a final, apologetic pat on Flame's shoulder strut, he passed Hound on his way forward to Skyfire's cockpit. "Maybe Prime's managed to get the City back under Autobot control. There doesn't appear to be any Decepticon activity out there, though the whole place looks – slag! - like a deserted junkyard." The black mech left the cockpit door open as he settled into the pilot's seat and opened the Valkyrie's channel with Autobot City.

Hound tried to find an available porthole in order to form his own opinion, but Skyfire's jet mode was bereft of windows in the cabin area. He sighed, realizing it might be better if he didn't see what the City looked like right now. Unbidden, the memory of his fallen comrades crossed his cortex. Loss was a part of war, true, but the Ark warriors had been through so many sorties without a single casualty! He had seen friends return to Primus before, but this group was particularly close due to landing on Earth. _It'll never be the same without them,_ he thought sadly. _We're left to pick up the pieces and mourn._

Suddenly, Skyfire's whole body shuddered, convulsing in what could only be wracking sobs. Hound was nearly jolted out of his seat and grabbed a protruding strut for support with this left hand, his right clenching painfully around Flamestrike's fingers as she slid forward on the bunk. The green tracker braced his feet solidly against the bucking floor as he threw a frantic glance up to the cockpit. Trailbreaker gripped one side of his chair, his nozzle-arm draped across a mobile face frozen stiff, staring straight ahead in shock.

"Trailbreaker?" Hound called out. Trailbreaker started shaking his head from side to side, throwing his free arm down and away from his head in a violent gesture. Skyfire's shuddering eased slightly as he tried to straighten out into his descent. Hound tried again, worried and confused. "Trailbreaker, what did they say?" Trailbreaker slumped forward, shoulders canted in defeat. His hand came up, this time to push the com mike away from his face and drop it on Skyfire's instrument panel. Hound heard the black defender moaning now, but none of the sounds were intelligible.

Skyfire's voice crackled through a speaker located next to Hound's searching head. "Solarflare contacted us from Autobot City. Optimus Prime is dead." The Valkyrie dipped again in the sky, shakily straightening out. His normally quiet voice took on a harsher quality. "Hot Rod, Ultra Magnus, Perceptor, and a few others, including the Dinobots, took off in our two remaining functional shuttles after a second Decepticon attack on the City. They left us behind and took the Matrix with them. We're alone here."

"No," cried Hound, disbelieving. "Not Prime. Not Optimus!" The gentle tracker joined Trailbreaker in a defeated slump, resting his helm on the folded arms bracing against Flamestrike's battered torso. Hound's optics dimmed in sorrow as he, too, grieved the passing of his commander, Optimus Prime.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Skyfire thundered down the ruined corridor, kicking debris to either side as he made a beeline for the nearest recovery berth. His huge arms clutched the much smaller brown-and-flame colored body closely to his chest, her limp extremities drooping, leaving a slight spatter trail of leaking Energon. The flame-colored bladed tail jiggled against his left elbow in time to his steps, normally a humorous sight. Red and yellow motion caught his attention and the scientist called out to the twin warriors busy clearing the rubble. "Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, drop that and help me! Get this door open! Hurry!"

Matched shocked looks overlaid initially with a faint sneer of pained contempt quickly gave way to decisive action as the Twins caught sight of Skyfire's burden. Both mechs leaped over chunks of fallen debris and smashed equipment to beat the struggling scientist to the room where he was obviously heading. Gracefully strong digits pushed the swinging double doors wide as Skyfire entered and the twin Lamborghinis followed him inside. Sideswipe hit the light panel, sighing in relief as the illumination hummed into life. Sunstreaker darted forward and swept the recovery berth clear of the larger shards, cursing under his breath at the additional damage to his latest wax job. He whirled around to snag the towel that Sideswipe tossed him and both twins quickly wiped the surface free of clinging dust. They stepped aside as Skyfire knelt down to lay his burden gingerly on the recharge bed.

Skyfire had just leaned upright when a commotion in the hallway outside stilled any incipient conversation. The doors burst inward carrying a small, battered group of Autobots, their faces indeterminate at the moment of entry except for the varying degrees of concern. Last to enter, shuffling in well behind the gaggle, were Hound and Trailbreaker. Babbling voices rose as each abandoned warrior surrounded the recharge bunk.

"Did you find her?" "Where were you guys?" "Oh, Primus!" "Hey, watch yourself!" "This place isn't secure, we have to get the sensors back up!" "What are we going to do?" The voices stilled as Skyfire suddenly stood up to his full imposing height. He spread his arms, angling his huge white form in a protective stance over Flamestrike's berth. Looking down, he saw nine pairs of distressed optics focus upward to meet his sweeping gaze. Setting aside his own grief for the moment, Skyfire decided that it was up to him to take charge, at least for the moment. Later, he would have time to mourn. For now, he needed to follow his own dedication to preserve life.

"Here is what we're going to do." Skyfire's quiet statement soothed the tension in the air like a cup of oil calming rippling waters. "I," and he thumbed his chest in emphasis, "am going to take charge of this patient. First Aid," and here the huge white finger swung down to point out one anguished form in the group. "I know you probably have many others who need your skills, but I ask that you be available for my call." The Protectobot, newly promoted by fire to the rank of CMO, merely nodded his head and took one weary step backwards.

"Hoist, make sure that nothing interrupts the power to the medical bay. After two attacks, we're going to need every last piece of working medical equipment just to keep everyone functioning." The green and yellow tow truck straightened up at this statement.

"I'll get Grapple to help and we'll get right on it!" He stepped out of the room, gently guiding First Aid ahead of him. "C'mon, 'Aid, Skyfire's got things in hand here."

Red Alert, who had been surprisingly quiet up to that point, blurted out, "What about security? Blaster may be up in the Tower, but he can't possibly cover every approach! We can't be allowed to let security slip, especially now that we're left in a crippled state! The Decepticons could be anywhere! All it would take to shut us down is one more…"

"Red!" snarled a visibly angry Solarflare, crest flicking high, "why don't you _help_ by resetting the relays for your long-range receivers? That's a start, at least."

"Yeah!" chimed Sunstreaker, using his towel ineffectively to buff at his scratched arm. "It'd be a damn sight better than the _whining_ you've been doing." Sneering in disgust at the fine abrasions marring his golden body, he slammed the towel down on a counter against the back wall, whirling to advance menacingly on Red Alert, Sideswipe a red shadow in step behind his twin. "Or maybe we can just wire _you_ into the City's processor!"

"Enough!" commanded Skyfire. The Twins froze in place, casting wary glances up at Skyfire, then they relaxed, muttering. Solarflare's crest flattened down with a chime on her helm and she stopped mantling, resettling her grey wings. Gracefully, the femme glided over to her friend, opposite the recharge bunk from Skyfire. She directed one more murderous glance at Red Alert, then turned her attention back to Flamestrike, pointedly ignoring the Security director.

"Actually, that's a good idea," Skyfire admitted, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Red Alert, go and at least jury-rig some sort of early-warning detection. Grab Hoist if you need help." Forestalling any argument, he continued quickly. "Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, keep clearing the hallway for use, but be nearby in case I need you." Dazed looks met his orders, but the three sports cars headed out, not without a nasty push from Sunstreaker to Red Alert before Sideswipe pulled his twin away.

Skyfire looked at the four remaining Autobots in the room. Solarflare had taken up a position near Flamestrike's head and was carefully wiping down the brown armor with the towel Sunstreaker left behind. Hound and Trailbreaker stood in the corner near the door. They hadn't moved or spoken since arriving, their faces registering twin emotions of loss and sorrow. Skyfire quickly came to a decision and turned to the last mech in the room, also standing in lost, sorrowful contemplation.

"Bluestreak," the huge white Valkyrie murmured gently. Wide, tormented blue optics climbed up, slowly, to meet Skyfire's. "Bluestreak, would you please take Hound and Trailbreaker to Prime so they can pay their respects? Afterwards, I think the three of you better come back here for a while." He didn't say why, but he knew that they needed time to grieve, time better spent in the company of their closest friends. Bluestreak trudged out of the room without a word, leading Hound and Trailbreaker down the cluttered, orange hallway.

Solarflare watched the trio depart, then swept her intense amber gaze to regard Skyfire. "What happens now?" she asked, her very question a subtle declaration of the right to stay by her friend, no matter what Skyfire wanted.

"Now comes the hard part," he sighed, kneeling down next to Solarflare and gesturing at the unmoving brown femme, covered in more injuries than he could count, much less imagine repairing. His own blue optics dimmed slightly at the thought of the monumental task, then his face set in resolute determination. "Now, we try to put things back together."

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Skyfire wound up placing Flamestrike in stasis-lock for the first two weeks of her long recovery. The pain, he explained, would be too much for her to bear even in deep recharge. He worked slowly, diligently, calling on First Aid and Hoist for help and even locating old Sparkplug Witwicky to come help fix some of the finer details of her circuitry. The four mechanics had to almost completely disassemble Flame in order to reach the deeper fractures and crushing damage. Long repair shifts were always balanced out between them, though Skyfire took on the brunt of the repair work. The femme's broken body and shattered limbs slowly, but eventually took on more normal configurations. Flamestrike's anti-gravity generators, however, were beyond the abilities of any of them to repair.

"These were one of Wheeljack and Ratchet's designs," commented Sparkplug thoughtfully, running a finger along the inside wiring of the detached generators. Flamestrike, still stasis-locked, had been gently manipulated into her gryphon form in order to remove the mangled units. "Without their notes, I don't know what goes where, exactly. I'll give it a shot. Having something to work on is a lot better than worrying about my son." Sparkplug's voice stilled for a moment, then continued in a tone too low for the tall mech to quite catch. "or my grandson."

"That's all we can ask, Sparkplug," replied Skyfire, currently re-folding the brown femme back into her robot mode. Having a gryphon, however docile, on his working surface unsettled the scientist for reasons he couldn't explain. "And I'm sure Spike is fine. Bumblebee has a knack for getting out of tight spots, and he'd never leave Spike behind." With a final snap of servos, he stepped back from his patient, giving her a critical inspection. "I'll go see if there's anyone who may be able to access Wheeljack's project notes- maybe Sideswipe? In the meantime, why don't you please see what you can do with these for now."

Sparkplug cleared his throat, then jerked his head to the unmoving femme. "What about her? Will she be okay without these?"

Skyfire pondered a moment, rubbing his chin. He kneeled down to inspect Flamestrike's inner supports more closely, running a light fingertip along her side and spinal brace. "It's true they did lend some internal support. But," he continued, "as long as she's recovering here and we don't have her do anything strenuous… She should be just fine."

"Well, okay. You're the expert!" said Sparkplug with a low chuckle as he shouldered one of the units and walked out the door towards his waiting truck, presumably to take them to his workshop. A few minutes later he returned. "Hey, if Perceptor ever checks in, maybe he can offer advice," suggested the aging mechanic as he trundled off with the second broken generator. "I'll be back when I've made some progress. Or you can contact me!" came the call from the corridor.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

"You're sure it's time?" asked the Valkyrie, one huge hand hovering over the stasis-switch. Two days had passed with no word from Sparkplug.

"I'm sure, Skyfire," responded First Aid, a diagnostic tool sweeping up and down Flamestrike's mostly-repaired body. "She can't stay in stasis-lock forever. Her internal repair circuits won't work until she's brought back into some kind of recharge." The young CMO put away his reader, placed his hands on Flamestrike's shoulder joints "just in case" and nodded to Skyfire.

Skyfire pressed the sequence to release Flamestrike's spark from stasis. At first, nothing appeared to happen other than a light twitch of the bladed tail and a slight illumination from the smooth green optics. First Aid lifted his hands from her shoulders and turned to look back at Skyfire. "See, that wasn't…"

"Screeeeeee!!" came the audio-shattering cry, ascending octaves in a painful keen. With a sudden wrench, the brown and flame colored form writhed on the recharge bed. Her repaired limbs flailed madly, threatening to undo all the delicate work of the last sixteen days. Her optics flashed in a brilliant emerald nova, suddenly darkened, then flickered in random illuminative patterns, staring blindly without recognition. Her crest-jets exploded in a vortex of flame, scorching the recharge berth as she arched her back painfully, still keening.

"Skyfire, help!" wailed First Aid as he frantically grabbed for the flailing arms. "Grab her feet!" Skyfire reached forward, snagging one kicking leg but earning a cutting swipe of the lashing bladed tail before securing the other. He moved close, pressing one large white foot down on the flame-blade, and leaned as much weight as he dared on the struggling form trying to keep her down, keep her still. First Aid wasn't having as much success, being much the same size as Flamestrike. He grasped both her hands in his, but couldn't help leaning closer to her face and the foot-long jets of flame back blasting upwards from the crest on her helm. "Ouch! Ow! That's hot!"

The commotion in the recovery room caught the attention of Bluestreak, on cleanup detail in the hallway outside. The young gunner burst through the double-doors, pistol in hand. His firing arm dropped and his optics widened in stunned surprise at the sight of Skyfire and First Aid struggling with an awakened-but-not-coherent Flamestrike. "What the – she's awake!?" stammered the young mech, nonplussed.

Blazing green optics fogged with frantic, unthinking confusion focused towards the intruder's voice. Flamestrike froze in place as Bluestreak's outline silhouetted briefly against the hallway lighting, dimming now with the doors' closing. Her optics flickered, darkening and lightening, still staring at the younger warrior for long moments without a hint of recognition. The flames from her crest-jets lowered, then died out in a wisp of smoke. Slowly, movement returned to her still form. Flamestrike relaxed slightly, reclining against the still-smoldering recharge berth, her strange gaze never straying from Bluestreak.

"Bluestreak! Thank Primus!" sighed First Aid, instantly grasping the significance of Bluestreak's appearance and the sudden eerie quieting of his patient. "Get your tailpipe over here," and the medic grabbed a nearby stool, "by the light – no, here." Bluestreak gingerly took a seat on the indicated stool, Flamestrike's flickering optics following his every move with a perplexed fixed gaze. He opened his mouth to speak and was instantly waved silent by Skyfire. Questioning blue optics begged for an explanation.

"She's just out of stasis-lock," explained Skyfire in the quietest voice he could manage. "I'm not quite sure what's going on in that cortex of hers; but we need her in recharge, we need her quiet, and if your, ah… presence" and here the jet indicated Bluestreak's door-winged form, "keeps her from tearing herself apart in shock, then you are going to sit there and keep an eye on her for us, right?"

"R-right," was the tentative reply. Glancing around, the gunner noticed there actually wasn't much to do while he sat there. Flamestrike wasn't able to think right, much less talk, and her intense furrowed gaze was just on the wrong side of unsettling. First Aid slipped behind the recharge bed, altering the flow of energy to keep her subdued, but "awake." He looked back up at the white scientist. "Um, Skyfire?" he asked, tentatively. "Exactly _how long_ am I supposed to sit here?"

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

In the end, First Aid discovered that only five Autobots were able to keep Flamestrike quiet while she recovered. Bluestreak, Solarflare, Hound, Trailbreaker and, oddly enough, Skyfire took turns sitting by her berth. First Aid continued to alter the energy flow for the recharge program. "It's like being on Valium" was Sparkplug's dry observation. He checked in at regular intervals, but still hadn't managed to repair the anti-gravity generators. Flamestrike lay quietly enough when one of her "watchers" (as First Aid called them) was there, but soon lapsed into violent restlessness when left alone. Each Autobot figured out the best way to keep the recovering femme quiet during their watch.

Trailbreaker would sneak in a small television set for his watch, keeping the sound low, and play old movies and musicals. Bluestreak sat quietly, a difficult enough task for him, and read over datapads in conscious mimicry of his former mentor, making sure he was always in full view for his short watch. Solarflare busied herself with "keeping" chores, wiping down Flame's armor, and checking the readouts innumerable times in hopes that her friend's cognizance would return. Skyfire generally used his watch time, also kept short, to examine his patient and ask her questions that he knew she wouldn't be able to answer. Hound held her hand and chatted to her in a quiet voice. He and Solarflare assumed the long watch times to give Skyfire and Bluestreak a break.

Flamestrike's physical condition improved with every passing day, as her internal repair units worked on the last of her wounds. But her flickering optics and incoherent stare told the story of her inner spark, lost and trying to resurface. Word filtered back from Cybertron that Unicron was destroyed and Galvatron banished, but it wasn't until Rodimus Prime's return to Autobot city a short time later that she finally awakened.


	4. Chapter 4: Grief

**Chapter 4: Grief**

"**Pearl Harbor" soundtrack**

**Author's note: This chapter happens simultaneously with Crystal Shekeira's "28 Solarflares II - #3 Anger." I have her permission to write my story coinciding with hers. :-) ****She also helped me a bit with some of the dialogue. Hopefully this'll be the last "uber-angsty" chapter…things should pick up a bit next. Oh, and kudos to those of you who can guess who's "waiting in the wings" as it were. -winks- I'm giving you a few choices, and a few more later!**

**As always, I appreciate the comments and constructive criticism. Thank you!**

It was a long struggle, a long, painful journey back. She couldn't quite grasp the randomly shifting thoughts, the fading impressions that slipped from her seeking mind. Sound impinged on her awareness, and she focused all her remaining will on the murmuring ripple. The low voice she heard was like an anchor and line, providing a solid path back to reality. Dazed, Flamestrike felt numbly detached from her surroundings as her optic receptors brightened and steadied, lighting on a familiar face not three feet from her. The emerald flickering of her optics finally settled into a steady green glow, darker than just a few months before with shadows from within. The murmuring voice broke off in surprise, but her awareness remained in this time, this reality. The green mech turned his head, breaking her fixed gaze.

"Solarflare, I think she's waking up!" Hound turned back to face her, looking intently into her optics. "Flamestrike, are you awake?" A second form in monochrome grey and black pushed into her line of sight, worried relief etched into the lighter facial planes.

Flamestrike regarded her two friends for a moment. Solarflare's crest twitched slightly and Flamestrike found herself momentarily distracted by the movement. The question Hound asked was a simple one, yet it seemed to take an enormous amount of effort to concentrate long enough to reply. Her voice seemed to bubble up from deep within her circuits, the answer sounding flat and monotone to her audios. "Yes. Where am I?"

Twin sighs of relief answered her query. Hound squeezed her hand, which Flamestrike had just realized he was holding, and must have been holding prior to her waking up. She stared at her hand in his, not quite able to form a coherent thought. Hound lightly placed her hand back on her stomach plating and rose. "You're in the medbay of Autobot City. I'll let Solarflare fill you in on the rest. Skyfire will want to know you're awake so he can bring your recharge flow back to normal." He stood up from the stool he had placed next to her berth and stepped back, giving her lax foot a pat before turning to head out the swinging double-doors of the recharge bay.

Solarflare glided over to Hound's vacated perch and settled herself, wings flicking up and back out of the way. The grey femme sat still for a moment, lost in thought. She leaned forward and laid one taloned hand on Flamestrike's armored forearm. Solarflare explained, speaking in a low voiced filled with combination grief-anger. "Flame ... there's no easy way to say this..." Flare paused, the taloned hand on her friend's arm trembling. "Prime's gone."

Flamestrike stared numbly at Solarflare. "No..."

But Solarflare wasn't finished. "A mech named Hot Rod was given the Matrix."

_Hot Rod._ The name was vaguely familiar to Flamestrike. A memory sifted up into her main cortex, a hazy scene recalling the similarities in color of the two Autobots – flame and red versus flame and brown. Her mental wisp recalled not particularly liking this brash newcomer…then the thought faded back into her cortexal recesses, replaced with a numb acceptance of Solarflare's words.

"They're calling him 'Rodimus Prime'…"

o0o

Skyfire arrived shortly after Solarflare completed her update. He adjusted the energy flow to Flamestrike's med-berth explaining to his dazed patient that she had been in stasis-lock and had a bad reaction recovering. "The humans call it 'drugged up' so don't be surprised if you're having trouble focusing. Get a good recharge tonight and you'll feel better tomorrow, just in time." His voice dropped on the last three words.

"In time for what?" Flamestrike canted her head listlessly to look up at the very large Valkyrie.

"Tomorrow is the official memorial for those lost in the battle for the City." Skyfire crouched down to bring their heads to the same level. He looked at her, a sad expression momentarily shadowing his optics before continuing. "You've awakened in time to say goodbye." He stood up again and moved to the controls of Flamestrike's berth, flicking a few switches and twisting a dial. "I'm placing you into recharge now, you've still got a lot of repairing to do." With those words, Flamestrike slipped back into the dark maelstrom of recharge.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Very early the next morning, Skyfire gently carried Flamestrike through the corridors of Autobot City to the lyceum and hall reserved for Optimus Prime and the warriors fallen in battle. Flamestrike was unable to balance or stand, her circuits still painfully repairing the connections between her ragged leg sensors and her battered cortex. She pressed her face into Skyfire's shoulder, embarrassed at the proof of her physical debility. She was thinking more clearly, though, despite the constant dulled pain, and noted that no other Autobots frequented the corridors of their passage.

"Skyfire," she finally ventured to ask, "why are we so early?" She didn't particularly want to go, especially not in her present invalid state. She lifted her head to catch his gaze as he slowed his step and looked back. Skyfire looked, well, _sad_. His calm demeanor melted away a tiny bit to reveal a gentle soul, tortured by the events of the past months. The two solitary souls arrived at the grand door, the entrance to Optimus Prime's viewing bier. Skyfire nudged the door open and ducked in, carefully angling his torso to keep Flame's unresponsive limbs from scraping the frame. Once inside, he stopped and lifted her slightly higher in his arms.

"Flamestrike," he finally replied, his voice a barely audible rumble. "For the last several weeks our comrades have been able to take time to mourn. They've started the healing process." He stepped forward into the dimmed room, empty save for the draped dais and the dark unmoving form lying in state on the platform. Skyfire paused at the right side of the bier, lowering Flamestrike down next to the body of their former commander. "We have not." He kneeled down to match gazes with the stunned femme. Slowly, Skyfire shook his head. "I've spent all my time with our comrades, helping them heal. Now, no one is left, save you." The tall, gentle scientist looked at her, his facial planes awash with grief. The mask of his calm slipped further and he slumped his shoulders forward. "Will you help me heal, Flame? Will you share my final moment with Prime?"

There was no other answer she could give. "Yes."

Skyfire inclined his head towards hers in gratitude, touching helms briefly. "Thank you," he whispered, rising halfway and taking a few careful steps towards the head of the bier. He knelt down next to Prime's shoulder, placing one trembling hand on the death-faded metal. Lost in silent communication, the compassionate white mech shook with sorrow finally let free.

Flamestrike, propped up near Prime's knee, reluctantly turned to regard the shell of her former commander. She hadn't known Prime very well, though they had occasionally chatted when he visited the office or quarters she shared with Prowl. It was Prime who had finally convinced her, after she and Prowl had bonded, to take the commission to officer rank. Vague memories and snippets of old conversations flitted back and forth across her cortex. Prime was the ultimate commander; caring, inspirational, strong, wise. His presence had permeated Autobot City like a great, paternal warmth. She gazed up at the grey-tinged face, desolate feelings finally coalescing into a private farewell.

Lowering her head until her crested helm brushed the cold metal, Flamestrike directed her internal monologue to the departed spark of the still form_. Optimus Prime, I- don't know what to say, but you are sorely missed. You were the guiding hand that kept us together, kept us inspired to fight. We're lost without you... without all of you..._ Her thoughts became unfocused and she joined Skyfire in silent lamentation, her senses paralyzed by grief too long deferred. Tiny flames flickered from her feathered crest, reflections of the deep, burning pain that ate away her fragile grasp on reality.

After a time, Skyfire's shuddering eased. He kneeled upright, his face reflecting the closure and healing accomplished with saying farewell. Shadows still framed his motions, but even they were easing with the return of his soothing calmness. He cast a glace back at Flamestrike, noting her slumped form, arms folded across Prime's knee, the flames from her helm casting a dancing ruddy light on her folded wings. Quietly, so as not to startle her, Skyfire inched over and reached out with one tentative hand to touch her left arm. She jerked, stiffened, and then slowly relaxed as her head came up. Her optics pulsed for a moment before the flames on her crest dimmed out.

"Flame, we have one more place to visit," Skyfire's voice intoned. Flamestrike mutely nodded, aware that two Cybertronian honor guards had entered the room, presumably to stand watch over the viewings for that day. She briefly resented their presence; angry that they would intrude on her and Skyfire's private farewell, and see her unable even to stand up. But in another corner of her mind, it didn't really matter. Skyfire's grief appeared to have eased with his mourning; hers was like an incoming tsunami, still building to its devastating climax.

Taking the entrance of the two guards as a signal, Skyfire gathered the brown femme back into his embrace, taking an extra moment to arrange her lower extremities comfortably before standing up to his full height. Once assured that she wouldn't slip from his arms, he gave a solemn nod to the two mechs and gravely paced out of the room. Embarrassed, Flamestrike held her head in her spread fingers, refusing to look at either of the warriors.

The next hall they entered was much larger. It was usually reserved for lectures or demonstrations and could hold almost the entire complement of the City. Skyfire entered from one of the side doors directly in line with the six platforms spaced evenly across the front of the hall. A few shadowed forms moved around quietly, far enough away from the fallen Ark warriors to not impede Skyfire's progress. The lights were dimmed in respect for the solemnity of the event to occur later that morning, save for six bright spots illuminating the bodies of the departed heroes.

Flamestrike raised her head at the change in lighting, her face swinging around to scan the spotlighted platforms. She stiffened in Skyfire's arms, pushing ineffectively against the huge mech's chestplate. Her crest glowed from the incipient flames caused by her sudden sorrowful panic. "Skyfire," she managed to force out through dental plates clenched in agony, "I don't think I can…" Her protest dwindled silent as the arms holding her clutched her painfully close. Skyfire paused at the edge of the first platform's circle of light, lifting her up, bending close to touch helms, heedless of the low flickering heat from her crest.

"Please try, Flame." He murmured low in his vocalizer, explaining. "Today is the official memorial. Once it is over, we will launch the mausoleum into deep space. This is our last chance to say goodbye." He stepped into the bright light of the first platform, keeping a firm hold on Flamestrike's unwilling body. Skyfire bent down on one knee next to Windcharger's broken shell. Flame couldn't help the thoughts that surfaced at the sight of her first mission-partner on Earth.

_Windcharger. I will miss your good humor. You were an excellent mission second…_ her thoughts devolved into randomness, scattered memories flitting too fast for her to focus coherently. Skyfire also said his farewell silently, his memories evident on facial planes mobile with expression. After they had enough time to silently say what they wanted to say to Windcharger, he stood up and proceeded to the next ring of light.

Skyfire paused only a few moments at each platform, but taking enough time for Flamestrike to dread the next bier, the next unmoving form. Wheeljack, Brawn, Ratchet, Ironhide, all got individual farewells, each name calling up a flood of memories carried forth by her poignant grief as readily as Skyfire carried her through the hall. Her optics glazed over the terrible wounds evident on each warrior's body, seeing them in her cortex as she had seen them in life – whole and sound.

_Wheeljack, you were the genius behind my new form. You truly gave me wings to fly higher than I had ever imagined…_

_Brawn, I can't believe that you're gone. You were always so…invincible…_

_Ratchet, you had a heart of gold behind those imposing optics. You patched me back together after missions more times than I can count. First Aid has a huge void to try and fill…_

_Ironhide, older than nearly all of us, you were the consummate warrior. Tough, competent, sometimes hotheaded, but you truly cared for each and every one of your comrades…_

The last platform on the end was the most difficult for her to behold, for it cradled the mech dearer to her than life itself. Her staggering grief rose anew as they approached the lighted platform and the faded black and white figure lying upon it. Unlike at the other platforms, Skyfire leaned down and tenderly placed Flamestrike at the left shoulder of Prowl's body. He knelt down for his own farewell, one large white hand lightly clasping Flamestrike's folded right wing.

Flamestrike gazed at her bondmate's form, taking in the sweep of his chestplate, his slim hips, shapely hands, his regal doorwings, his elegant facial planes. She memorized every inch of his form, running her fingertips along his arm and chest, setting this scene indelibly in her memory banks. Her awareness faded until only Prowl was left. Nothing else mattered; no one else existed for her as she felt the nothingness where his spark had joined with hers. The tide of desolate grief crested within her and she slowly collapsed over the form of her love, taking his left hand and pressing it against her grey cheek as she began to shake with quiet sobs. Jets of fire rippled from her crest in reaction. Long moments passed. She lost herself in the overwhelming maelstrom of memories, keening her sorrow, her loss.

Drowning in her grief, she didn't notice when Skyfire took his hand away and stood up, stepping a pace away and folding his arms in a protective stance. By then, they were not alone in the front of the hall. Jazz and Ultra Magnus made a beeline to the tall Valkyrie standing like a white beacon behind Prowl's platform.

Ultra Magnus arrived first with Jazz just a step behind. Magnus stepped past Flamestrike with barely a glance, but the saboteur paused to crouch down and squeeze her shoulder gently before rising to stand behind Magnus. Skyfire looked at the two newly returned officers with a cool stare; he had an idea what this was all about. Jazz looked a little embarrassed to be playing backup to the new second-in-command, but determined to do his duty…as he saw fit.

Ultra Magnus unnecessarily cleared his vocalizer before addressing Skyfire. "I am to assume that she will move before the memorial service begins?" He cast a glance at the slumped form. "We will have full formation of all the troops." Behind him, Jazz cast his gaze upwards in a move that could only be interpreted as rolling his optics. He shrugged slightly and looked directly at Skyfire.

Skyfire gave Ultra Magnus a long, measuring look before he answered. "No," he said firmly. "She stays here. She is too injured to stand or walk, and I will not take her away from her bondmate until she's ready to go." He straightened up; arms still determinedly crossed and stared down the red-white-blue mech. Neither Skyfire nor Jazz missed the slight twitch Ultra Magnus gave at the word "bondmate."

Jazz decided to give his own opinion. "Look, Magnus, most of us here know about Prowl an' Flame. This is the only time she's got before we send 'em off, and I think it's best to let her stay and say goodbye." Jazz took Magnus' arm and started pulling him away from the platform. "Skyfire, you jes' keep her here and I'll take care of the rest." The two newcomers departed to prepare for the memorial, Jazz looking back over his shoulder and giving Skyfire a thumbs-up. Skyfire's lip quirked in a slight smile and he relaxed his stance a fraction.

Flamestrike was completely unaware of the exchange between the other officers. Her thoughts were swamped with a million snippets of memory from the five years she had known Prowl. She held his hand in hers, pressing her facial planes against the cool white metal. Silent sobs shook her healing frame jarring her circuits painfully as she relived each moment, each conversation, every evening she spent nestled in his arms. Her crest burned with deep red-gold flames in sorrowful reaction, eerily lighting her slumped form. She lay inclined over Prowl, blind and deaf to anything but the swirling images her memory banks vividly played in the center of her abused cortex.

The combined population of Autobot City and their human allies slowly arrived, the Autobots lining up in impressive formation while the smaller humans took seats near the line of platforms. The memorial wasn't a long one, but it was poignant with speeches from those who knew the fallen soldiers best. After the playing of taps (a human custom deemed appropriate for this solemn ceremony), those assembled could stop at the platforms for a more personal farewell. Many did, and while Flamestrike received more than one odd glance, most of the Autobots from her time in the City stopped to touch her shoulder or arm in sympathy. Flamestrike remained in mournful detachment for the entire day, incognizant to everything, increasingly lost in her own memory processors.

o0o

When night fell, Red Alert finally stalked up to the bier. He looked around the hall, double-checking the area even though he knew his sensors had reported all clear. He took another two steps forward, crouching down to peer at the femme who looked to be lying in state almost as much as her bondmate was, save for the dying flames flickering up from her crested helm. Red Alert had heard there were those who thought Flamestrike's behavior unusual. He shook his head, and reached out to shake her shoulder strut. It took a long time for him to get any response.

Flamestrike felt the shaking as if from far away. She struggled to find the source of the contact and found it - next to the increasing pain and loneliness that she wished to leave so far behind. The shaking grew more insistent and she found herself responding, unfolding back into her circuitry. Her leg receptors stabbed her with a jab of pain, bringing focus back to the here-and-now. The sorrowful numbness where she was lost faded from her sensors. She hesitantly raised her head from Prowl's arm and turned to look pointedly at the red-white mech jarringly shaking her epauliere.

Red Alert looked at Flame intensely. Flame felt a bit uncomfortable being so close to the Security director. Actually, she couldn't ever remember being quite this close to Red. Like the other Autobots, she had given him quite a wide swath. After all, everyone knew he was-

"Crazy." He blurted.

Flamestrike blinked in surprise. "What?"

Red gave her an ironic chuckle. "Crazy. They think I am, and now you too." He snapped his head up, giving the room another quick scan. "Once you show any sort of deviation from what they," and he gave a jerk of his head in the direction of the head offices, "deem normal, you're branded for life." He suddenly grabbed Flamestrike's upper arms in a firm grasp, causing flames of reaction to flick from her helm. He leaned in close, optics wide. "I know." He gave her arms a shake. "I heard. They don't know how much I know, and hear. Don't listen to them. Sometimes, you need to go 'crazy' to cope. Do what you need to do to survive." This time he squeezed her arms, making sure she heard the low tones. "I know after that attack there's no way you'd ever put us at risk. I know what you're going through." He gave her a significant glance and the thought sparked her cortex. _He's sympathizing with me. Red?_ She shook her head, disbelieving, and he gave her arms another shake.

"Flamestrike, look at me. Listen to me; I will say this only once._ I trust you._ Trust me." He paused for a moment, then looked away and dropped her arms. "We did not have this conversation." He reached for the medbay call button Flamestrike didn't even realize was there, next to her knees in easy reach. "Skyfire left this for you when he had to go back on duty. You may or may not be ready to go back but I'm calling. I have to secure the area prior to launch." He stood up, pressing the call button with a sardonic flourish. "There. They'll send someone to come get you. You've got that much time left." He placed the call button back down next to her unresponsive leg. "I'm going to start securing the place. Make sure you leave by that door over there or you'll set off the alarm and I will be most upset." Red strode off quickly, leaving a quite bewildered Flamestrike alone at Prowl's platform.

Flamestrike turned back to Prowl. She felt tired, drained after being lost in her memory banks for so long. The flames on her helm had sputtered and died out while Red Alert was talking. Things still felt detached to her, like a thin wall of glass holding back the vortex of memories ready to suck her consciousness down into the back void where Prowl's spark used to be. She fought to stay out of recharge, taking Prowl's hand and placing it back onto the bier. She stroked his fingers sadly, her whole spark numb with grief and fatigue from her all-day vigil. She didn't hear Hound's approaching steps and jumped in surprise when his hand touched her shoulder armor.

"Ready to go?" he asked, one hand outstretched.

She took one more moment to gaze at Prowl, and brush his unresponsive lips with her fingertips. _Farewell, my love..._

Flamestrike nodded to the gentle tracker and handed him the medbay call button. Hound subspaced it before kneeling down to gather Flame into his arms. Hound wasn't anywhere near as large as Skyfire and Flamestrike found herself having to hang on to the green mech's shoulders as he stood back up. _He may not be as tall as Skyfire, but he's strong!_ was the thought that unconsciously crossed her logic center. Hound juggled her for a moment before her limbs settled, then headed out the door that Red Alert specifically designated for their departure. Hound was quiet on the long walk back to medbay, apparently respecting her mood. Flamestrike was too tired to think. She had looped her arms around Hound's neck for balance and his blocky shoulder was a few inches from her head. It was just too convenient for her to fight.

Hound felt the weary sigh of Flamestrike's overtaxed processors a split second before her head drooped to rest on his shoulder. Her arms relaxed their grip around his neck, not quite loosing their clasp completely. Hound tightened his embrace, purely to keep her from slipping and doing more damage to her legs should she hit the floor, of course. Flamestrike slipped into recharge, her lax form curled in his arms. He slowed his pace a trifle, arriving at medbay in time to catch Skyfire emerging from another recovery room. Skyfire took in the scene and, without a word, opened the door to Flamestrike's room for Hound to enter unimpeded. The green tracker neared the recharge berth and gently placed the brown femme upon it, arranging her limbs in a comfortable position. She was too deep in recharge to notice the look he gave her as he turned to depart.


	5. Chapter 5: Anger

**Chapter 5: Anger**

"**Of Rage and Remembrance" John Corigliano **

**Author's note: I actually listened to a LOT more music, but the piece listed above not only had the lion's share, but it reflects Flamestrike's deteriorating sense of self and rising anger the best. This chapter happens in tandem with Crystal Shekeira's "Lament" series. I have her knowledge and full permission to weave my story into her events. In fact, some of the events and dialogue in "The Stars' Lament" was used and partially rewritten for this chapter.**

**As always, I appreciate the comments and constructive criticism. Thank you!**

A low snarl overlaid with pained high-pitched tones echoed through the large, well-lit examination room. Perceptor had finally found enough time, several days later, to evaluate Flamestrike and her still-missing antigrav generators. At the irritated sound, he stepped back from scrutinizing the irate robotic gryphon lying sprawled belly-down on the table, limbs and wings secured to its outstretched corners. He shot a worried glance towards Skyfire, leaning against the counter at the corner of the room, who shrugged and motioned for the other scientist to resume his post. Dodging the freely lashing tail, Perceptor reached the table, transformed into microscope mode and carefully peered at the severed connections lying exposed to the air along the gryphon's trilythium spine. Several long minutes passed, punctuated by Flamestrike's intermittent low growling, then he transformed, turning to Skyfire with a puzzled look.

"After careful examination of the most minute surface areas, I am reluctant to hazard a scientific hypothesis for the deficit of electrical connection and the abundance of persistent aggravation. Continuing prolonged analysis would be felicitous to procuring an acceptable solution." Perceptor leaned back over to peer into the tawny spinal ridge of his patient.

Skyfire glanced ceilingward for patience, arms crossed across his chestplate. "Meaning you have no idea what's wrong, or how to stop the pain."

"Precisely." Perceptor poked an inquisitive finger at the edge of Flamestrike's gaping generator aperture, earning another snarl of pain and a vicious swipe from the flame-colored bladed tail. Skyfire quickly hid an amused grin as the flat of the blade smacked the red scientist square in the back of his head with a resounding _clang_.

"Stop it; that _hurts_!" Flamestrike raised her head as far off the table as she could, spearing Perceptor with a murderous glare. Her eagle's beak gaped in agony and her optics clouded over as she wrenched her wedge-shaped head forward again. "If you can't fix me, let me up!" She rocked from side to side, trying to reach the restraints holding her splayed on the tabletop. Tiny flamelets rose from the top of her crest in exertion, anger, and pain.

"My sincerest apologies, Flamestrike. I keep forgetting that you're quite awake for these examinations." Perceptor and Skyfire moved to undo the restraints at each corner of the table. Once she was free, Skyfire started to pick up the still-prone gryphonic form but was halted with another irritated growl. Skyfire stepped back again, respecting the warning implicit in the angry sound. He refolded his arms and threw a questioning glance towards the head of the examination table. Flamestrike clamped her wings protectively over the exposed cavity that housed her missing generators and reflexively swished her bladed tail, causing Perceptor to sidle aside, ruefully rubbing the back of his helm.

"I will stand and walk back to my recovery room, thank you." Slowly, painfully, she braced each limb on the tabletop and levered her brown-and-flame colored body upright to stand on all four feet. She surveyed her progress and looked triumphantly at Skyfire. Just as she cast her head about to locate the easiest way down, a commotion in the hallway caught the attention of all three Autobots.

Making his entrance by thrusting the examination room door open with a grand flourish, Sideswipe entered jauntily waving a datapad aloft with an overabundance of enthusiasm. "I got 'em!" he exclaimed, flourishing the pad in front of Perceptor's nose. Jazz entered a bit more sedately, carrying several more datapads, flashing his characteristic grin at everyone present. He went to stand next to Skyfire, watching Sideswipe tease Perceptor with the ever-waving anonymous file.

Perceptor ineffectively grabbed at the proffered datapad, managing to secure it from Sideswipe on the third try. "What, exactly, did you get?" Turning the file over in his hands, he angled one shoulder to the red Lamborghini to prevent having said pad disappear again. "There are no markings on this one. I cannot imagine why you would come barging into a scientific analysis with an unmarked datapad for the sole purpose of distracting me from my examinations."

Sideswipe, undeterred by Perceptor's irritation, gave the scientist a hearty thump on the back before turning to Flamestrike, still perched unsteadily on the table. "Wheeljack's notes! Sunny and I managed to break into Wheeljack and Ratchet's files, and copy down the notes for our grounded gryphon's generators onto that datapad." With a glance to the corner, he added a bit reluctantly, "with Jazz's help." After answering Jazz's smug grin, he scritched Flamestrike between the ears before she could duck, snatching his fingers away from her half-irritated snap and strutted out of the room. "Sunny, we're done here. Stop torturing Gears!" was clearly heard through the closing door. Sunstreaker's answer went unheard as Skyfire congratulated Jazz on a successful retrieval mission.

Jazz demurred his involvement. "Now, Skyfire, y'know there isn't a place around that can keep me and the Twins out when we wanna get in." He gestured to Flamestrike with the pile of datapads in his arms. "Okay babydoll, time to review some more reports!" He waited while the femme carefully clambered down from the table and made her painfully unsteady way out the doors to her own recovery room before his jaunty mein sobered. Making sure Flamestrike was out of earshot; he jerked his head towards Perceptor, who was already buried in the notes recovered from Wheeljack's files. "Is he gonna be able to fix 'em?" he asked Skyfire, a slight worried crease appearing at the corner of his visor.

"I believe with the original notes, we should be able to repair the generators. I just hope they do not require anything too exotic as the supply run from Cybertron is halted indefinitely." Skyfire mused thoughtfully, glancing over at his colleague. "I don't know what will happen if we cannot fix them. Flamestrike has not only completely adapted to her new aerial form, but we don't have the ability to reformat anyone into a new alt-mode until we get more technicians." He spread his hands in defeat.

"I know what Flame would say. She won't even consider reformatting. After all, it was Solarflare and Prowl who convinced her to take that alt-mode in the first place." In this semi-private location, Jazz could allow a fleeting look of sorrow cross his features. Rubbing his face and slouching, he dropped his voice another notch. "How's she holding up here? I've been tryin' to distract her with paperwork." Jazz waved the datapads carelessly. "She's good at takin' little bits of seemingly unrelated data and figuring out what really happened. Better yet, she's pretty good at anticipating how to counter the offensive tactics the Decepticons used."

Skyfire stood up from leaning against the counter. "We will do our best to restore her _physical_ capabilities, Jazz. As for her spark…" the tall white scientist shrugged and moved forward, turning slightly so the saboteur couldn't see his expression. He stepped behind Perceptor, pretending interest in the murmured babblings and intense note taking. Out of the corner of his optic, he saw the Porsche cross his arms casually, cocking his head to one side. Realizing that Jazz would not be satisfied without some sort of explanation, Skyfire continued. "It… suffered damage. We don't know how. Based on reports from Cybertron, Chromia and Elita-1 reacted when Ironhide and Prime passed, but not to this extent. It's apparently affecting her personality circuits."

Jazz nodded thoughtfully at this information, and shifted slightly. "What can you do about it?"

Skyfire turned to face Jazz fully, taking in the too-relaxed posture, the slight tapping of one black finger against the crossed arms. The datapads were lying in an untidy heap on the countertop. Skyfire felt his words fall into the silence between them as they were reluctantly dragged from his vocalizer, "I don't know."

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Flamestrike made her careful way down the spacious corridors of Autobot city, gritting her dental plates against the jabs of pain with each deliberate step. Her anti-gravity generators were _still_ in the possession of the medbay team, a week later, and she would never admit to the extent of agony and vertigo she experienced from their absence. Their bulk not only shielded some of the more delicate internal circuits, but they also apparently were a major factor in her cat-like balance. She couldn't use them in her primary mode to hover or fly, but evidently they played a larger part in her equilibrium than anyone guessed. Despite the disorientation and pain, she insisted on getting out of the medbay and eventually managed to browbeat First Aid into reluctantly allowing her some freedom. Her fingers clutched convulsively as another stab jolted her circuitry.

_What's another source of pain, anyway?_ she mused, taking another careful step. Even with her feet spread like an hour-old foal's, she was frequently reduced to grabbing at protrusions from the wall and spreading her botmode-shortened wings to keep upright. _At least with physical pain, I have something real to focus on._ Her thoughts sheered away from the descending spiral that was all too easy to fall into. Every day since she had awaked back into herself was a struggle to keep going. Sometimes, the simplest things would set her off and threaten her hard-won sense of self. Grief and anger were her constant unwanted companions, shoving aside her knife-thin emotional balance to demand primary lodging rights. _Why they saved me, I don't think I'll ever know._ She paused for a moment, examining that bitter thought, her tail swishing unconsciously.

_Well, that's not exactly logical. They saved you. They had lost so many already. Prime, Ratchet, Wheeljack… Prowl._ Again, her thoughts threatened to descend into the calling darkness that drew her spark. She ruthlessly wrenched herself back into a more calculating mindset by main force of will. _Everyone is needed for something. Even you. After all, with …Prowl-_ another quick wrench -_gone, I'm certainly better at strategizing than anyone else here._ A smug thought came unbidden to her cortex_. I was trained by the best._ The hint of loving pride in that admission lasted only a microsecond as the realization that she'll never _have_ another training session with her bondmate overcame her. She sank down into a crouch, hunched over save for her hands which practically crushed the ornamental rail decorating the wall. Small flames flickered from her helm in emotional reaction as she fought to stem the tide of overwhelming grief.

Long moments passed before the flames receded and the brown and grey femme pulled herself upright. One step, then another- slowly, deliberately: each pace an inexorable path to her destination and her future. The orange hallway seemed to stretch forever, leading away from medbay towards the offices and quarters for the City's residents. As she took each careful stride, thoughts swirled in her cortex, forming into a brief moment of lucid clarity.

_Why is this so hard? Everyone else seems to be doing just fine. The original Ark warriors had their own memorial service after the official one._ Word had spread about the near-brawl that had ensued as the Earth-homed crew came to terms with the change in leadership. _Rodimus Prime has a monumental task ahead of him. We were left here to fend for ourselves, and that kind of betrayal is hard to explain away. And then,_ and her flame jets sputtered in reaction, _not only did Rodimus collect private data files on all the warriors, but he pulled that stupid stunt by disconnecting Solarflare from the communications console. Slagit, he knew better! He's not thinking things through like a leader; he and Ultra Magnus are stepping on a lot of toes._ Her thoughts scattered back into fragments as a shaft of pain lanced up through her spark. Willing herself to concentrate, Flamestrike focused her sights on traversing the next section of the orange hallway, leading to the offices and strategy room.

She started to round the junction leading to the corridor containing Prowl's office when unusual activity, a lot of it, alerted her sensors. She froze in place, bracing against the wall with her arm before slowly peeking one optic around the corner. What she witnessed made her circuitry burn in slowly rising rage. Ultra Magnus, leading a small line of mechs carrying boxes, had just unlocked the door to Prowl's office. He gestured to the group to precede him into the room. "Pack everything up and take it to the storage facility in "B." Don't leave anything behind, we'll need the room."

_He wouldn't __**dare**_, she thought before she was temporarily overwhelmed with a surge of ferocity. White-hot rage fountained up through her cortex, hazing her optics sensors in a red wash. Her tail lashed angrily and she grabbed it before it could smack against the wall and alert Ultra Magnus to her presence. The motion unbalanced her and she slumped to the floor, bracing herself with one hand, the other still grasping her tail. Flames rose from her helm as she fought to get her anger under control. _Slag it! That's my office, too! Who the Hell does he think he is?_

She knew she wasn't physically able to stop Magnus in her current condition. If she tried to barrel down the hall in righteous fury, she'd fall flat on her chestplate within three steps. For long moments, Flamestrike agitatedly pondered her options, crest flames and tail flicking restlessly. Every few seconds, she would peek her head around the corner to indignantly watch the progress of the group. From the loud bangs and thumps echoing through the corridor, it was obvious the detail was working for speed, not caution. Torn in anger and indecision, her cortex working frantically against the swamping tide of heated fury, Flamestrike finally stumbled upon a possible solution.

"_Red! Red Alert!_" she called on a tight-band private channel. She knew the Security Director would answer…eventually.

"_This better be good_," came the sardonic reply. Despite their amazing conversation the day of the memorial ceremony, Red Alert had never shown Flamestrike any acknowledgement of his startling understanding. She gritted her dental plates at his tone and organized her chaotic thoughts.

"_Red, check Prowl's office! Magnus is here with a squad of mechs…they're clearing it out. I- I can't stop them_." She clenched her hands into painful fists, grinding the end of her bladed tail tip into her thigh. _Please believe me_, she thought. _Please…_

For an agonizingly long time, there was no reply. Flamestrike was just about to try and get up to confront Magnus herself when Red's voice crackled back along the private com channel. "_Primus! How long has he been there? No, nevermind. Flamestrike, get out of the area. I'm calling Jazz. We can't let them get away with…_" his voice cut off from the channel midsentence.

Flamestrike knew that Red Alert would make sure Magnus was stopped. However, there were some serious misconceptions about the departed warriors and those left behind in Autobot City that needed straightening out _right now_. Taking a few shaky steps backwards from the hallway intersection, the infuriated femme painfully transformed to her gryphon form. Four legs could move much faster than two, no matter how sensitive the gaping openings on her back were. Clamping her lengthened wings protectively over the cavity, she staggered quickly down the hallway, making a beeline for the new Prime's office in Central Command. Once outside the door, she transformed back into her primary mode and detached her tail-spear to use as a brace for her failing equilibrium.

Rodimus Prime looked shocked to see Flamestrike enter his office. What was even more alarming to him was the glowing nimbus of heat rising from the crest on top of her helm, matched by the naked fury in her flashing green optics and the grim set of her shoulders as her hands fiercely gripped her tail-spear. The new Prime was still trying to sort out the massive pile of datapads on his desk. The large, untidy mess in the center sat surrounded by neat smaller stacks taking up every available inch of surface area. Rodimus had two more datapads clutched uncertainly in his hands as he looked up. "Flamestrike, uh, what's wrong?"

Gathering the shreds of her composure with an obvious effort, Flamestrike had just opened her mouth to answer when a deep roaring echoed down the hallway into Prime's office. The roar increased in volume and proximity as a stream of Cybertronian oaths became discernable amid the noise. Flinching, Rodimus dropped the datapads back into the central pile and stood up just as Ultra Magnus blasted into the office. He barely noticed Flamestrike standing there, pushing her off-balance as he stormed up to the front of Rodimus' rather substantial desk.

"Prime, I insist that you call Jazz in here at once! I don't have time for this kind of insubordination!" The new second-in-command was waving his arms furiously. "He's endangering our whole mission!"

Rodimus tried to make sense of Magnus' ramblings, "What did he do?" Sneaking a quick peek around his lieutenant's shoulder, he saw Flamestrike tottering forward a step, using her tail-spear as a brace. The planes on her face were frozen in a cold, hard expression overlaid with agonized pain.

Ultra Magnus forced Rodimus' attention back to him. "He interfered with the reorganization and threatened me with bodily harm if I tried to secure Prowl's files!"

"And what made you think," asked a low voice, rich with controlled fury and spark-wrenching torment, "that Prowl was the only one who used that office, or those files?"

Ultra Magnus whirled around in complete surprise. "Flamestrike! I didn't…" his words tapered off as he caught the expression of cold outrage on her face. Holding up his hands, palms forward, he shook his head. "You misunderstand…" Behind him, Rodimus made the all-channel call for Jazz to report to Central Command.

"Oh, I think I do understand." Her voice remained low and steady, matching the cold glare she leveled at the stunned Autobot second-in-command. Her crest, however, flickered erratically, betraying the rush of anger that she kept under firm control. "You," and her gaze swept both rigid forms, "are forming the unfortunate habit of acting before thinking." She leaned forward, resting a fraction more weight on the hands firmly clasping her flame-spear as she continued, refocusing on Ultra Magnus. "You abandoned us here at the City with no means of contact or escape. Optimus Prime placed command of all the Autobots in your hands, Ultra Magnus, and the first battle decision you make is to leave your missing and wounded behind. To the tactical mind, your departure could be viewed as a strategic ploy to lead the Decepticons away from the City, but," her voice hardened, "your actions after your return show that you care more for your small squad of close friends than for the Autobot troops as a whole."

Flamestrike shifted her attention to Rodimus Prime. "I try to see things from all perspectives. Maybe you should do the same." She took one unsteady pace forward, leaning heavily for balance against her spear. "For one moment, take a look at events from, oh… say, my viewpoint." Her voice stayed low, but the angry, sarcastic tones were nova-clear to the new Prime. "Your search for personal records, privacy-sealed by the medical team," and she saw him wince in embarrassment, "as well as demanding Perceptor's exclusive attention any time you or your team visit medbay distracts him from being available to repair my generators. Add to that," and her gaze strayed to pin Ultra Magnus, "clearing out the office I shared with Prowl without my permission or knowledge…"

Ultra Magnus straightened up at these words, "Prowl's office," and he stressed the singular possessive noun, "is where a lot of sensitive information was kept. It is not a place for knick-knacks!" He would have continued, but a nudge from Rodimus Prime stopped him. Flamestrike gritted her dental plates angrily, but kept her voice soft.

"_Our_ office," and the bitter inflection Flamestrike placed on the plural was unmistakable, "was where _we_ planned the strategies the Autobots have been using in battle for the last five years." At Magnus' incredulous snort, she snapped her jaw closed. The two Autobots locked optics, green against blue. The only movement was the increasingly agitated flickering of the flames on the smaller Autobot's helm. Neither of them broke optic contact, for doing so would yield the argument.

Rodimus Prime stepped between the two officers, placing his hands on their chestplates and giving a slight pressure to each in order to break the angry tableau. Ultra Magnus straightened up; looking slightly offended and turned his head to one side. Flamestrike flinched away from the touch, nearly unbalancing before she reset her stance using her spear. She looked back up at Rodimus Prime, totally ignoring his second-in-command.

"When you disregard your troops, even in the smallest ways, it shows the new command team in a very dim light." She paused, looking at her clenched hands for a moment before raising her head; her face fleetingly suffused with pain before settling into hard, angry lines. "How can you expect to lead us when you have shown you don't respect us?"

Ultra Magnus snorted again and started pacing the length of the Central Command area in front of Rodimus Prime's desk. "Lead by giving orders that are followed," he commented to no one in particular. He made another circuit, steps jerky with suppressed frustration. "Where is Jazz? He should be here by now!"

Rodimus Prime had been unpleasantly stunned by Flamestrike's words. He stared numbly at the infuriated infiltrationist-turned-strategist and realized with a fleeting, blinding flash of cortex synapses that she was an untapped, forgotten resource of Prowl's expertise._ Prowl trained her, why couldn't I remember this?_ Just as quickly, the impulse disappeared as sorrow for his lost comrades warred with the need to respond to Ultra Magnus' agitated pacing. His second-in-command won out, and Rodimus Prime stepped away from the now silent femme. Approaching Magnus at the far side of the room, Rodimus asked quietly, "What do you want me to do when Jazz gets here?"

Still agitated, Magnus paced from one end of the room to the other, his fists clenched. "Remind him of his duty," the City Commander growled, throwing a glance at the other end of the room where Flamestrike stood like a frozen statue, her flame jets quiescent. His voice vibrated deep within his chestplate, "We cannot tolerate these little 'hissy fits' anymore. This is war and by Primus, we will move on!"

The new Prime looked down at his hands, the hands that held command over all the Autobots, not just his friends as Flamestrike had so caustically reminded him. "I never authorized you to remove Prowl's things," he murmured, low enough to not be heard by anyone other than Magnus. "Why?"

"Because," Magnus began heavily, as if to convince himself, "we need the room. That, and the information Prowl had in his possession needs to be kept under tight hold. Every memorial placed on his desk is another opportunity for something sensitive to disappear. I sympathize with them, but they cannot be allowed to mourn for an extended period of time." Magnus paused, and both mechs surreptitiously regarded the motionless Flamestrike. "Primus knows how much I miss Optimus, Rodimus!" the City Commander declared, his vocalizer crackling slightly from suppressed emotion, "but I know that there is a time and place for everything! That's why we held a memorial service."

Silently, Rodimus considered. Some warriors bounced back more quickly than others, he knew. Bluestreak was a perfect example of a warrior who never completely recovered from the loss of his city at the beginning of the war, and now had to deal with the loss of his mentor and friends. One couldn't set a time limit on grief, but Magnus had a point. When should a leader expect his soldiers to cease their public mourning, to carry on with the mission?

Magnus continued more vehemently, unaware of the new Prime's conflicted emotions. "Do they even realize that Galvatron is still out there somewhere? That there are Decepticons still on Earth who want our heads?"

"Everyone remembers, Magnus," Jazz said quietly from the door. "In case you forgot, Blaster an' Flare have been running deep-space scans twice a day. Hoist and Grapple go through the City every week, continuing their repairs on the structure in case of another attack. Bluestreak and Smokescreen are practically livin' in the armaments hold, keeping stock. Mirage and Hound come back covered in dirt and Primus knows what almost every day. Flamestrike," at his words, the previously motionless femme lifted her head, "and I go over the reports, daily." He paused, leaning up against the doorframe. "Need I go on?"

Silently, Rodimus turned his head to look at the massive Autobot next to him. Pointedly, Ultra Magnus turned his back on the saboteur, forcing the Prime to go at it alone. "Jazz. Magnus tells me that you ordered him to leave Prowl's office today." Flamestrike started angrily, but Jazz moved forward and stilled her with a hand on her shoulder. He paused a moment before answering the Prime.

"I did."

"Even though he is a superior officer?"

Jazz stayed cool in the face of Prime's interrogation. "He had no right to be packing up everything when Prowl's bondmate…" An incredulous exclamation from Ultra Magnus stopped him. "Somethin' wrong, Magnus?"

Ultra Magnus paced back to stand within a few steps of Jazz and Flamestrike. He regarded the shorter, slighter officers with a superior manner. "Prowl was too logical and dedicated an Autobot to have a personal relationship. I can see him training an assistant, but bonding?" Magnus shook his head. "No, I don't believe it for an astrosecond."

Had Jazz not had his hand on Flamestrike's epauliere, he couldn't imagine what terrible fate Magnus would have suffered for that remark. Fortunately, Jazz was both faster and stronger than the injured gryphonic infiltrationist. Before she had time to do more than shift her weight prefatory to a fatal strike, Jazz spun her around in a full circle, disorientating her. Her tail-spear fell to the floor and she stiffened in sudden agony. Before she had time to recover, the saboteur locked her up, wings against his chest, arms pinned to her sides, knees sagging. She struggled furiously, yet her flame-jets never lit to blast Jazz's face. After a brief moment, she relaxed, shaking, still held fast.

Jazz dropped any pretense of Earth slang, addressing Ultra Magnus from slightly behind Flamestrike's helm. "Prowl was one of my best friends, my brother-in-arms. Not many knew him as well as I did." He took a moment to allow Flamestrike to gain her footing, but still kept his lock-hold on her. "I'm telling you, Prowl and Flame bonded about five years ago, while you were still learning the ropes as Autobot City commander. They mostly kept things private. Believe what you want, but the spark-bond was there." He brought his chin down over Flamestrike's folded wing joint, pressing down apologetically. "I'm sorry, babydoll," he murmured. She made no move, optics glued to a spot on the floor near Rodimus' foot, frozen silent.

Ultra Magnus turned away from Jazz, pointedly addressing Rodimus Prime with his stance. No apology was made for his callous remark.

The white and black Porsche shrugged, his regular demeanor back. "Y'know, I get all this power shiftin' and changing in ranks," he began softly, giving the trembling Flamestrike a squeeze on her, arm, "but what I don't get is the stompin' on people's feelings. Sure, there was grief and resentment when Optimus Prime first took over near the start of the war, but not like this. I get that ya gotta do it your way, but let us do it our way, too."

Rodimus paused, thoughtful. That was twice in a very short span of time that brash decisions and lack of respect for his troops was brought up. He looked back at Ultra Magnus, who had finally turned around to face Jazz. Magnus had a set look on his facial planes that left no hint to the internal workings of his programming.

Flamestrike finally shook off Jazz's grasp, turning to Rodimus. "I don't know the changes you plan to make, but I stay right here." Her firm, emotionless tone brooked no argument from the new Prime. She coolly retrieved her tail-spear from the floor. "I will resume my duties as strategist for the City, and return to… my… office." Her vocalizer sputtered very slightly, but she quelled Jazz's attempt to console her with a look. "And my quarters." A hint of her formidable rage returned, held in firm control by the iron will she had used for so many successful infiltration missions and tempered by the coldly calculating mindset she used so effectively in formulating battle plans. She glared murderously at Ultra Magnus. "Primus save you if you have so much as opened the _door_ my quarters." With that last caustic barb, she turned with all the dignity she could muster and stepped out the door, her stately pace masking the pain and vertigo. The conversation inside the room continued after she walked out of sight, but was still faintly audible in the hallway.

"You're going to let her get away with that?" demanded Ultra Magnus, outrage at Flamestrike's perceived insubordination plain in his voice.

"Yes," replied Rodimus quietly, "She's right, and she's the best we have for the City. But," and his voice sobered as he addressed the saboteur, "she cannot let her emotions interfere with her duty to the Autobots stationed here. She did okay just now, but I expect her to be professional in all her work, no matter who she's working with…or for."

She didn't hear Jazz's reply as anger seethed through her systems, fueled by the overheard criticisms. _Don't worry, I will be._

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

"Here's the last of them," announced the recently promoted City co-commander Mirage as he and Solarflare entered the ruined strategy office later that same evening. Flamestrike, Hound, and Trailbreaker, the other co-commander looked up from inside the room, where they were working to put things back in order. The newly arrived pair each carried one box, contents haphazardly poking out in all directions. "The team Ultra Magnus assembled apparently hadn't really cared where they shoved these."

Trailbreaker grunted dryly, pointing out a bare spot on the strategy table. "Well, we'll just go through these and figure out what's supposed to go where." He matched action to statement and picked up the top datafile from the box Solarflare set in front of him. "At least Jazz stopped them before they got to Wheeljack's locker. Though maybe we should have let those fumble-fingered mechs handle some of the more, ah, volatile of his experiments." Peering at the smudged file in his hand, he called over to Hound, "Hey Hound, where are we putting terrain maps again?"

Hound's voice rose up from behind the desk by the far wall. "They go in the second drawer to the right under the strategy table. Should be a few in there already with my sigil on them." Trailbreaker located the indicated file drawer and reached for another datapad.

Flamestrike sat in the space in front of the desk where Hound was working, sorting boxes of miscellaneous material. She hadn't spoken much since returning to the office and seeing its disheveled state. Her hands worked mechanically, sorting out the memorial material from duty rosters, strategy plans, and other official files. The few mementos Prowl had collected in his 20 years on Earth were separated out, no matter their condition, into a separate, sturdy lockbox. This area is where Mirage headed with the last box from storage room "B." He set it down within easy reach of Flamestrike's working area and walked back to the untidy mess of boxes piled on the strategy table.

Solarflare was still angry with the mess in the usually tidy space. She sorted files vigorously, working out her frustration by setting things back to rights. Each empty box thrown out into the hallway was a minor victory over the haphazard clutter. All five Autobots worked with quiet industry for a while until Solarflare heard Hound ask, "Flamestrike, are you okay?"

The green tracker had come out from behind the office desk and was crouching down to peer intently at the silent brown-grey form. One hand rested on her motionless shoulder, shaking her gently. Flamestrike's attention was focused intently into the very bottom of the box Mirage had brought over. All its other contents had been emptied out into sorted piles. "What is it," asked the tracker looking inside, "a chess set?"

Mirage started and looked up. He walked over to Hound and Flamestrike, bending down to tip the side of the box in order to get his own look. Solarflare and Trailbreaker stopped what they were doing to observe the three in the corner. Whatever Mirage saw, it affected him. His optics flashed for a moment, blanching his aristocratic facial planes. In a very quiet, gentle voice, he asked, "Flame, is this the chess set you gave him?"

"…was," came the nearly inaudible reply as she slowly reached into the box, holding up the black onyx king piece, Anubis. The ears were broken off; his muzzle cracked lengthwise, large chips missing from its elegant sweep. A collective shocked vocalization echoed in the room. Reverently, she caressed the figure before placing it gently back into the box with the rest of the broken pieces. It was fitting, she supposed, the chess set that had finally kindled their budding romance should be shattered just like her own existence. Viciously, she schooled her outward reaction, though her internal thoughts were swept up into a maelstrom of rage and despondency. Her vision receptors faded.

She felt herself pulled into a comforting embrace. After a moment, another presence supported her other side, gently patting her still painful shell. Flamestrike froze. She almost shrugged off the comforting arms in irrational anger, and indeed, her whole body was shaking with both irritation and pain. Gritting her dental plates, she very slowly, carefully disentangled herself from the pressure threatening to overwhelm her self-control, finally kneeling upright. Mirage and Hound still looked concerned, so she half-shrugged in apology and ducked her head to hide the pain in her optics.

When Mirage would have taken the box containing the broken chess set out into the hallway, she stopped him with a hand on his arm. "I'll… take care of this, thank you." He glanced at her curiously, her flat tone at odds with the emotional tension in the room. She pulled the box closer to her knees in reply, noting the time as her gaze swept across the computer display on the wall. "I think we'd better stop for now." She deliberately placed the chess box next to the sorted mementos and levered herself to her feet, Hound lending his arm as a brace.

The Autobots departed for the barracks, lost in their own solemn thoughts. Flamestrike meticulously locked the door to her office, now solely hers. With an assist from the ever-courteous Hound she slowly returned to her achingly empty, but reclaimed, quarters.


End file.
